


Fuck Off Get Free We Pour Light on Everything

by dcepticonn



Series: The Diogenes Project [6]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers - Occulus Occult, Transformers: Rescue Bots Academy (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcepticonn/pseuds/dcepticonn
Relationships: Blades/Heatwave (Transformers)
Series: The Diogenes Project [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023469
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Preface

This will also include a table of contents and a blacklist for the chapters.

_Please enjoy - and remember, **do not read something you don't think you can handle!  
If there's a blacklist item that should be added or was perhaps missed, let me know in the comments  
or privately through my [Tumblr](https://dcepticonn.tumblr.com/)!  
Keep in mind that I WILL NOT be blacklisting triggers specific to one individual (I.E Names),  
as this is a public work. If something specific to you in this fic triggers you, simply do not read it.  
Please cultivate your own experiences within the Occulus Occult community,  
The Transformers community and by extension the whole Internet.**_

_I: Preface_

* * *

I'm just posting these now, they're going to be edited later and stuff and the chapters may be more than what's presented here, but we'll see as the story progresses. Y'all ready to traumatise some robot children

II: Blacklist

* * *

_**I: Fuck Off Get Free (For The Island of Montreal)** _

_**II: Austerity Blues** _

_**III: Take Away These Early Grave Blues** _

_**IV: Little Ones Run** _

_**V: What We Loved Was Not Enough** _

_**VI: Rains Thru The Roof At Thee Grande Ballroom (For Capital Steez)** _

_**VII: Bad Days on The Horizon** _

_**VIII: Workhorse** _


	2. Part I: The First Years

_The first few years at school can be distressing and confusing for young ones._

_The first six years of their lives at the Academy begin,_

_and our little heroes embark on a journey of learning,_

_friendship,_

_love,_

_and togetherness._

_Their journey of self-discovery and pain._

_But - shall we start at the very beginning?_

_Back to the beginning, from the top, now..._

* * *

I: Fuck Off Get Free (For The Island of Montreal)


	3. Fuck Off Get Free (For The Island of Montreal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day at the Gold Hill Academy dawns, just like any other day. Hotshot, as always, finds himself outcasted as usual by others he desperately wanted to call his friends. The little bot struggles with his familiar, a golden eagle named Zeus - and his father offers some wisdom to help him set sail on the course of self-discovery and finding his way.

_i wanna go,  
i wanna see the other side,  
i lauded all day for much too long,  
tied down my words to sing a song  
~ steam powered giraffe, 'latum alterum' ~ _

Hotshot sighed to himself. He was on the roof of some Academy - built more like a Victorian or Gothic castle or mansion than an actual school, with its elegantly-trimmed gardens woven with cobblestone paths and pavilions and one or two gazebos.  
The walls of the Academy were deep mahogany-brown, inlaid here and there with stacked cobblestone and polished windows, flowerboxes hanging from their sills. Turrets topped with twin weather-vanes arched into the pale blue summer sky, peppered here and there with clouds and a small, winged black speck circling high above.  
Hotshot smiled small to himself.  
He was sitting on the edge of the roof overlooking the garden path that marched up to a colossal porch and elegant, stained-glass doors. Waiting.  
He wasn’t supposed to be up on the roof, especially as high as he was - if his fathers saw him, they would both be quite upset. But Birdie was always on the roof with Hoist and Wedge. Why couldn’t he join them?  
He had good balance! He’d never fall!  
‘It just takes one time,’ Heatwave would chide at him, ruffling the top of his head with his hand. ‘And that’s a risk none of us want to take’.  
Hotshot had been at the Academy for what, two years now? Not attending, his parents would carry him back and forth during its construction, and with his friends, Hotshot found himself staying. A home away from the firehouse and the Lost Light.  
His fourth birthday was only a day away, which he anticipated greatly if it wasn’t for the fact that there was such a commotion to have. It made him grow tired a bit too fast, but it was fun while it lasted.

...Even though he was already the outcast. The fifth hang-off of a perfectly even team of four. Wedge hated him, Hoist was indifferent, Medix was always telling Hotshot to stop existing too close to him, and Birdie.  
She was nice or at least tolerated him, but that’s expected being her cousin.  
He sighed heavily to himself, shifting back up the roof so that his feet were locked against the siding. Carefully he inched himself to his feet, the ground dizzyingly far below him. Welp. He couldn’t just climb down the way he came, he always ended up falling and rolling down the roof and into the cherry tree beside the Academy.  
He sighed and squeezed his optics shut, making a grand kick off the roof of the building, splaying his arms out above his head like a diver prepping for a swan-dive.  
As he hurdled towards the earth, he curled so that he was on his back, and with a shattering bang he hit the cobblestone in a roll.  
“HOTSHOT!” Bellowed a voice from the porch.  
...Busted. He rolled his legs under him and shot to his feet.  
A shadow passed over him - taller than he was, as he only ever stood partway up his hip. Hotshot froze. He didn’t want to turn.  
A hand found its way onto his shoulder and squeezed firmly. “...What did Blades and I tell you about leaping off the roof of the Academy like some-- Like some fool with a deathwish?”

Hotshot turned his head to peer up the arm that clasped on his shoulder - cut in elegant golden swirls that had filled his hand and were marching up his arm. They were gentle patterns of flowers and arabesques - a symbol of Heatwave’s marital status, and how long. Hotshot’s optics trailed up his arm which sparkled bright cherry red in the golden morning sunrise. His blue optics sparkled somewhat gently, despite the frown on his lips, his gray-toned, scarred faceplates twisted in concern and mild annoyance. Cherry red horns that curled from his forehead and around the back of his head, and around like spiralling ram’s horns sparkled viciously. Hanging from the one to the left was a talisman made of gold and bright-red ribbons, carved with the sigil of a lion. His familiar, disguised as a talisman. His helmet was haphazardly hung on the ladder arching from his back.  
“I’m sorry, father,” Hotshot muttered.  
Heatwave smiled small and released Hotshot’s shoulder as he turned, taking a knee in front of Hotshot so that he could be eye-to-eye with him. He clapped both his hands on his shoulders and sighed, and Hotshot turned his optics away from him. “Look at me”.  
Hotshot turned his optics to Heatwave and said nothing.  
“Don’t be sorry. Be better”.  
Hotshot’s optics shot to the cobblestone like it was suddenly the most interesting thing on the planet.

“You are the pride of my spark. I’m sure Blades can say the same. You will bring our family to glory and we cannot name anybody that makes us prouder. We all worry about you”. He heaved a sigh. “...We should go inside and get the day started, little cub”.  
And with that, Heatwave rose and turned on his heel, marching up to the grand, elegant porch that led to the doors of the Academy.  
Hotshot sighed. Foolish.  
He turned his bright sky-blue optics towards the sky above, and the little black speck high above that had since circled lower. Hotshot sighed and raised his fingers to his lips, and he whistled sharply.  
The black speck stopped for a moment in the air - growing larger and larger. Hotshot held out his arm and smiled serenely as the once dark speck in the sky extended sharp black claws under it, beating massive brown-black wings laced in flecks of white. A golden neck glimmered in the light, and amber eyes stared down a vicious golden beak at the little mech.  
He raised a finger to stroke the eagle’s head. “Good morning, Zeus,” He said softly to the bird, which chirped softly in reply and set to preening his wings.  
Hotshot sighed as the bird clambered onto his shoulders carefully, and the two made their way up the walk to the grand porch, and into the entry hall.

The marble flooring sparkled blindingly under crystal chandeliers and matching sconces burning with bright green Greek fire that cast white light from their little caged containers. The floor was rolled with a red carpet that marched up to a massive fountain on an elevated dias, depicting Optimus Prime standing astride a boar with a golden eagle perched proudly on his shoulder, the Prime’s wings arching off his back.  
On the farthest walls to the left and right were two arches - one leading to a massive recreational room, and another leading to a very out-of-place airtight door. The lab.  
Tucked just behind the stairs was another door that led to a modest dining room and kitchen for the five recruits and their teachers.  
Leading up either side of the statue of the Prime was a set of stairs, which marched up to an overlooking foyer with a small sitting area, and two elevators that went to the basement and the two floors above.  
There were two halls that raced either way - leading to storage rooms and recreational spaces. The lounge floor.  
The second floor was for additional classrooms - four of them, with four spares if teachers on board the ship wanted to borrow a room to teach. Nothing very special.  
The topmost floor was residential - Heatwave and Blades’ room occupied the Eastern turret, while Hotshot was given the Western turret. Boulder and Chase’s rooms were across from each other.  
Hotshot’s turret was beside two bedrooms - Wedge’s to the left and Birdie’s to the right, who were beside Medix and Hoist’s rooms. There was even a small sitting area with massive windows overlooking the backyard.  
It was everything the recruits would ever want or need.  
The basement is where more intense training was held - there was a lavatory, with a shower rack and a massive bath which could easily hold twelve bots, and a sauna. Everything for self-maintenance.

The Hall of Heroes, the medbay and the workshop were all behind three titanium doors to the farthest end of the room. Other than that, it was a completely normal basement with a bar and some couches and televisions.  
If Hotshot was honest, the entire Academy was more of a mansion than a school. He was comfortable here.

He stood meekly in front of the door, watching as his father stalked up the left bank of stairs and to the sitting area. The other four were gathered in front of the statue of Optimus, chattering between each other in hushed tones and not even acknowledging Hotshot’s presence. They didn’t even look over when the door slammed behind him.  
Except maybe Wedge. He glared daggers at Hotshot, and he shrunk away. He wanted to retreat back to his spot on the roof.  
To simply not exist for a while.  
Zeus shifted uneasily back and forth on his talons as Wedge glared at the two of them - luckily Wedge’s familiar was nowhere to be seen, presumably hiding in the tattoo that raced along his arm - a vicious bird, with a hooked beak and a frill ringing around his neck. An eagle, like Hotshot’s familiar - but a different species.  
Zeus was a golden eagle. Phobos was a harpy eagle - far larger and far more vicious.  
Why Phobos chose to become a tattoo was beyond everyone in the Academy. Some found it comical, and some found it surreal to see a sparkling only aged four winters with a tattoo of a terrible bird on his arm.  
Medix stood beside Wedge - his familiar, a flying fox, curled around his neck in the form of a black choker collar with a silver charm of a bat. He ignored where Wedge looked, chattering along as if nothing happened.  
Hoist’s familiar was nowhere to be seen - instead choosing to take the form of a necklace around his neck, with a charm of a cow’s skull. He glared at Wedge.  
At least somebody noticed.  
Even Birdie’s familiar was gone - a tiny Eurasian blue tit, which became a tattoo of a bird on her face. Its wings flanked her left eye, and its beak was open in silent song. The little bird’s name was Orchid.

Hotshot sighed and shuffled over - Wedge shifted on his feet, which made Hotshot jump as if Wedge was about to pounce on him. Zeus beat his wings as Hotshot stumbled back. Medix rolled his eyes, Hoist winced, and Birdie furrowed her brow. “What’s wrong, _Hotshot_ ? Can’t recall your familiar?” Wedge mocked.  
The tease was like daggers to Hotshot’s spark. He sighed and furrowed his brow.  
Why even bother?  
He turned on his heel and marched up the stairs, saying naught a word as tears welled in his eyes.  
He wasn’t good enough, his peers made that clear. His father brooding about how Hotshot was to bring their family to glory must’ve been empty words, empty promises.  
It took so little to shatter his pride and his confidence.  
In the distance, Wedge laughed. The other three said nothing.  
Birdie groaned in annoyance, however, with a sharp ‘Why are you so mean to him? To all of us,’ she paced to the front door, threw it open, and slammed it.  
The whirr of helicopter blades indicated that the other had transformed and taken flight. 

“Hotshot?” Heatwave began, raising his optics from the book he was holding - some human novel titled _Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under The Sea_. “What troubles you, my son?”  
Zeus fluttered onto the coffee table and set to pushing around a coaster on the glass surface with his beak. Heatwave shuffled over on the loveseat, setting his book face-down on the end table beside it so as to not lose his page.  
Hotshot sat beside his father and leaned into his side, and he began to sob. It came out suddenly and sharply and in sudden, lurching jerks of his shoulders. Heatwave’s optics widened in worry, and he set to putting his arm around Hotshot. “Tell me what’s wrong”.  
“Wedge,” Hotshot stammered. “I’ll never be able to recall Zeus!”  
“...He’s teasing you again, huh?” Heatwave asked, glancing over his shoulder at the stairwell. “And it got to Birdie too, I heard her leave quite abruptly with the anger of a typhoon”. He chuckled softly. “I will deal with him. And what is this about recalling Zeus?”  
Heatwave reached a finger towards the eagle, who regarded his digit awkwardly before hesitantly nuzzling against it. “You know how--” Hotshot stuttered, sobbing. “--You know how you and everyone else can summon their familiar into a tattoo or an accessory or whatever?”  
“Mmhm?”  
“I’ll never be able to do it!” Hotshot wailed, “Never! Everybody else can but I can’t cause I’m not good enough”.  
Heatwave shushed his son gently. “Look, it’s hard. I struggled calling back Leonidas more than I’d like to admit. It takes practice and connection-”  
“I know”.  
Heatwave sighed. “Look. The first step to learning how to recall your familiar is to connect deeper than you ever had before. And that means learning to tap into what they think and feel - and eventually, they’ll allow you to use their eyes to see the world as they do, and you two can only become more powerful in this newfound union between twin souls”.  
“I’ve tried everything!”

“...No you haven’t. A familiar is a special magical creature sent from Asgard to aid one in their lives, whether magically or other. They may look like animals and act like animals, but they are so much more than that, very much like yourself or myself. On the surface we may be nothing, but it’s what lurks below that matters the most in the end. A familiar is born at the exact moment its companion is, however it may choose to appear in their companion’s life either early on or far later on. Every one of us has one - even if they haven’t appeared yet-”  
“I know, father-”  
“- And the first step to learning to recall a familiar is to understand their origins, where they come from and why they’re here with you. I can only help you with the knowledge I have, the rest is up to you. Do not beat yourself up, only concentrate on your goal and ignore everyone else. I will handle the bullying, you focus on yourself and Zeus. Yours is a journey of self-discovery, and once you pass this trial you will overcome the block that stays you”.  
Hotshot sighed as his father left a kiss on his head.

“You will bring us to glory, Eagle-Bearer. Now I should set on breakfast”.  
Hotshot sat up off of his father and clucked his tongue - Zeus fluttered onto his arm and then onto his shoulder.  
Heatwave smirked, and clicked his tongue - the talisman that hung from his horn curled off of it as if it was made out of water, and as it fell to the floor it weaved itself into a massive African lion which butted his head against Heatwave’s hip. Heatwave set his hand in his dark mane of fur and sighed as he shuffled down the stairs.  
The other three children were nowhere to be seen - must’ve scattered when they noticed who Hotshot was talking to.

Hotshot was summoned to the kitchen by the sweet smell that was wafting from its propped-open doors - something that smelled like cinnamon, or something sweeter and gentle.  
And playing from the kitchen was a radio; and with it his father’s voice:

_“Is there such a thing as too much of a good thing?  
I ask myself that every day.  
That is until the weekend comes,  
And the sun has gone away to sleep,  
Then there’s only one thing on my mind…” _

He was singing with someone else - who sang a harmony or two above Heatwave’s, their voices soft and sweet together. Hotshot thrust his head around the corner - both of his fathers were in the kitchen, twirling around each other and singing their hearts out together as they prepared that morning’s breakfast.  
The window was open, allowing in fresh morning light and a gentle, cold breeze - Leonidas was lounging elegantly on the bay window, and laying on his back was Philippine eagle called Icarus, which was grooming out the lion’s mane with its beak before finally resolving to lay in the fur as if it was a nest.

Zeus shifted his wings.  
“Hotshot!” Called Blades from over his shoulder, setting a pan down on the gas stove’s top.  
He was noticed.  
The kitchen’s walls were a bright sky-blue, hung with decorative plates and cross-stitched landscapes and animals. The countertops were white marble, matching white-washed carved doors and glass cabinets. The counter was a mess, scattered with flour and utensils - but usually, the countertops sparkled like the sea and was draped in fine doilies and decorations. The kitchen looked as if it was a grandmother’s and not a school-slash-mansion’s.  
Blades hopped over to Hotshot, narrowly missing Heatwave as he turned to the stovetop.  
Hotshot smiled vibrantly as his father knelt in front of him and kissed his head. “Good morning,” He said cheerfully.  
Zeus leaned forward to brush his beak against one of Blades’ finials, much to the giggles of the other.  
“And you too, Zeus. Chase and Boulder should be arriving soon with Blue Moon and Dashcam”.

Blue Moon was just a year younger than Hotshot was, and Dashcam was approaching a week old already. Hotshot enjoyed their presences. They didn’t bully him.  
Boulder had no children of his own. He felt that he just wasn’t ready yet.  
The phone in the dining room began to ring, and before Hotshot could say a word Blades was already answering it.  
It seemed that sometimes Hotshot was invisible to his own parents at times.  
He slunk out of the room, when-  
“Hotshot!” Called Blades. “Come here”.  
Hotshot shuffled over, hanging his head.  
“Chase is on his way with his daughters. Do you mind calling everyone to breakfast?”  
Hotshot sighed. “On it”.  
So, he slipped from the room, pressed his back into the wall, and raised his hand to the side of his head - clicking on the comlink that was clipped to his audial. He sighed. “Guys, breakfast is almost ready”.  
“Ugh, why is it always you?” Wedge snapped.  
Medix groaned.  
“Thanks, Hotshot,” Hoist began. “We’re on our way, _right_?”  
Groans from the other two. “...I’ll call Birdie,” Hotshot sighed.  
“I can hear you, you know,” Birdie hissed. “I’ll be there in a bit”.  
Wedge scoffed. “Looks like someone’s still huffy”.  
“Shut it, you overgrown pylon,” Birdie snarled.  
Wedge laughed. With a beep, Hoist and Medix cut the connection.  
“I swear, you’re going to say or do the _wrong_ _thing_ around me and I’ll rip that stupid smile off of your face and make you regre-”  
Hotshot hung up.

In time, the four little ones were gathered on one side of the table, empty plates sitting in front of them.  
Blades sat across from Hotshot, and Heatwave sat beside Blades, then Boulder and what was supposed to be Chase’s seat.  
Then, beside Hotshot was Wedge, Hoist, Medix and Birdie’s unoccupied spot.  
Birdie was still visibly pissed when she landed, just in time to assist Chase and his two daughters.  
Birdie herself was very much like a daughter to Chase, regardless. They were thick as thieves and closer than bread and butter. One would even make the assumption Chase _was_ Birdie’s father, when in fact he was more of an honorary caretaker. Birdie’s fathers were the clockmaker named Whirl, and the therapist named Rung.  
Well, not by birth. By marriage.  
Whirl was Blades’ brother, which made Whirl his uncle and Birdie his eldest cousin of two - little Whalefin was born sometime in January, the beginning of the year. Hotshot hasn’t met her yet, but often wished he could meet her. He just hadn’t bumped into the rest of the family in a while.  
Hotshot sighed, pushing imaginary food around on his empty plate with his fork. It was the morning routine as always - breakfast wasn’t obtained until everyone was seated at the table.  
In the distance, the close of a door and excited giggling. Boulder chuckled and Heatwave and Blades raised their brows.

Pounding into the kitchen and skittering to a stop mere inches from colliding with the table, was Blue Moon.  
One could look at her and see instantly where she got her name from - her metal was pale snow-white and shone with pearling like the moon’s kind light, and dancing over the white were swirling arabesques and mountains with blossoms and cranes and beautiful birds, and a dragon twisting its way among koi that swam motionlessly along her back among lilies and pond-stones. She was colored and patterned like those blue-and-white China sets that Heatwave kept displayed on the wall in the library.  
Her optics were a playful, sparkling azure, and she regarded the gathering like any excited three-year-old would.  
Birdie stalked in next, the little copter’s golden optics regarding those gathered at the table warmly despite the furious frown on her face and the furrow of her brow. Her hull was as blue as the sky, and the steely-gray rotors on her back were tipped in blue. Blades always remarked how she looked exactly like her father, before… What happened to him happened.  
Hotshot never knew what Blades meant. He’d never seen a picture of Whirl’s face before his Empurata, and part of him knew that that was probably a good thing. Even the way that Birdie’s optics shifted from friendliness to venom when they drifted over Wedge, who was staring at her.  
He turned his attention to his plate as if its pale-red surface was suddenly the most interesting thing since the recovery of the lost Prothexian Parthenon. 

Birdie must’ve done a number on Wedge. Hotshot’s respect for her grew even in just the slightest - people rarely stood up to Wedge, especially docile Hoist and Medix with his I-could-care-less attitude.  
A bark and the sound of paws and claws clicking against the floor. Scampering in after Blue Moon was a German shepherd - with a coat of the richest caramel with a saddle-patch of deep black. “Duke,” Followed a tired voice. The dog sat and turned wide eyes to the man that had appeared behind him.  
“Chase,” Heatwave rose from his seat, the chair squealing for a moment against the floor. He walked over to the other, who smiled. “Are you well?”  
“Yes, I’m fine, very much so”.  
Hotshot knew of the relationship between Chase and his two fathers. Not lovers, as Blades and Heatwave decided the two of them was enough - but still all the more loving and intimate with Chase. It was as if they were lovers, but they were not.  
Maybe that’s why Hotshot felt so connected to Moon and Dashcam. Maybe.  
Something tugged at his gut that told him that he was wrong. He ignored it.  
Chase was just a head shorter than Heatwave, with wide red-and-blue optics. His hull sparkled white, and his chest a navy blue. On his shoulders rose a bank of emergency lights, and on his arms twin floodlights capped in red and blue respectively. “...Has that misthios been giving you trouble?” Blades asked as Chase shuffled to his seat beside Boulder and stood beside it.  
“Who, Lancehead the Stone-Hearted? Long since been dealt with”.  
“That’s good. Don’t even know why someone would want to send a bounty-hunter after you in the first place,” Boulder interjected. 

“I don’t even think they know what they’re messing with,” Chase began, sliding off his shoulders a basket - it was like a basket one would wear on their back to carry fish, made of hand-woven wicker with strong leather straps. Chase sat down and tucked it just a bit under the table, so that it hugged against the leg of the table. “...He did give me a few good dings, though. I hate being weakened like this”.  
Chase raised his arm - several spots on his arms were wrapped in fine gauze and some was even tinted a pale blue.  
“Not much,” He continued. “It’ll heal”.  
He turned his attention back to the basket beside the table, smiling softly as he adjusted its top. “...I assume Dashcam is in that basket?” Heatwave asked.  
“As snug as she possibly can be”.  
Hotshot shifted awkwardly on his feet and shuffled back to his seat.  
Duke - the German shepherd - laid himself between Chase’s legs, crossed his front paws, and huffed. He was Chase’s familiar.  
Blue Moon was yet to call hers from Asgard, and Dashcam. Well, she was only a week old. Give her time.  
Hotshot sighed as the adults chattered between themselves. 

“...I think I’ve finally thought of something to call my familiar,” Hoist muttered, his voice as small as a mouse’s.  
“Well, what is it?” Birdie asked with a small, encouraging smile blossoming on her lips.  
“Minos. I think I will call him Minos”.  
“Like the Minotaur, and the city of Minos,” Heatwave suddenly said. “It’s strong, powerful”. Hoist smiled sheepishly as Heatwave rose, disappearing into the kitchen.  
He returned with Leonidas loping at his heels and Icarus perched on his shoulder, and in his hands a tray stacked with a towering pile of waffles and pancakes. He set it on the table with a proud smile - and that was breakfast.

Hotshot was the first to the Hall of Heros’ locker room.  
He sat alone with Zeus staring at him with those big, bronze eyes, the two rolling a little ping-pong ball between each other. Hotshot would roll it towards the eagle, who would nudge the ball back towards him with his beak.   
He pressed his back into his locker behind him and heaved a sigh, holding the ball between his fingers and staring at the stone ceiling above his head.   
Zeus chirped indignantly and hopped over to Hotshot, plucking the ball from between his fingers and with a flick of the head, threw it at Hotshot’s chin.   
It bounced off and clattered to the floor with a hollow sound. “Zeus-”   
The eagle chirped at him and shifted his wings. Hotshot sighed. 

The door squeaked open - followed by the sound of claws clicking against the wood floor.  
Hotshot turned his optics towards the sound - it was Leonidas.  
The beast stepped towards him, which prompted Zeus to flutter onto the top of the locker bank.  
The lion stopped in front of Hotshot, licked his chops and sat down. In the dim light of the locker room, the beast’s caramel fur was the color of dirt; and his mane almost black. Amber eyes regarded the young bot, but the beast said and did nothing.  
Hotshot sighed. “...Let me guess, Father sent you”.  
Leonidas made no response.  
Hotshot sighed, turning his eyes away from the beast. He chuffed.  
Hotshot turned his head back to the lion. For some reason, the lion wanted Hotshot to pay attention to him. Was he going to say something?  
Hotshot knew that familiars were capable of speech if they so choose. So why wasn’t Leonidas saying something?  
The lion turned his eyes up to Zeus, who was staring down at him - and Leonidas stood and turned, silently slinking out of the room.  
...Weird.

Coming in next was Birdie, with Orchid on her shoulder. Then Wedge, with Phobos perched on his arm. Medix with his bat, Charon. Then Hoist, followed by a massive ox.  
Hotshot stood and tried to make himself look busy as Wedge passed by, but the other still made it his purpose to shove against Hotshot as hard as he could - and for a moment Hotshot almost fell.  
Birdie sighed in annoyance as she took to her locker between them.  
In their lockers was where they stored weaponry, armor and various other tools - Heatwave had instructed them to bring out nothing, just to get used to going back and forth every morning.  
Hotshot sighed, and Zeus fluttered to his shoulder and nuzzled the top of his head. Hotshot ignored the eagle in favour of glaring daggers at the back of Wedge’s head.  
And he was the first one out of the locker room. He didn’t want to be alone with that bully.  
Heatwave greeted them in the Hall, standing in front of a podium with a screen mounted on it, that glowed vibrantly against Heatwave’s metal. “Today,” He began. “I’m going to start you five off very easily. We’re going to train for the next several years with our familiars. That is our end goal; to maximise your potential with your beastial companions by the time you graduate. Now, that’s going to be a long, long while from now. So in the meantime, we’re going to train you in vital skills that will have you set not only for rescues but for life. I, obviously, will be working magic and familiar usage into these lessons”.

Hoist shifted anxiously, and Medix and Birdie glanced between each other. Hotshot stared at his feet.  
...He was going to fuck up and embarrass himself in front of everyone, and give Wedge more of a reason to bully him, huh?  
Hotshot huffed.  
“All five of you, step onto the platform”.  
One by one the five recruits paced into the middle of the room - they were standing on some sort of elevated dias, like a stage, with a solid glass floor that glowed and pulsated with mysterious light.   
“This is the simulator of Hero Hall,” Heatwave began. “Here you will perform various tasks we and the other teachers have designed, as well as run through rescues we’ve performed in the past. We will start you easily - but know that it will only get harder and harder as you graduate and move forward”.  
The recruits shifted between each other - a bright flash, and the world sprung up around them.

Wind licked at their faces - a gentle summer breeze, and trees hushed in the wind.  
There was a small village extending far in front of them - in ruins. The mountains clawed at the sky, surrounded by a sea of trees - and the area in the forest that surrounded the small village was charred and burned.  
“This is what the Hall does. We can emulate and simulate anything. This small foresting village was decimated in a forest fire - most of the survivors escaped, save for five. Your task is to scout for and recover these five missing survivors and bring them somewhere safe to check for any wounds. Use your familiars - and tools you have - to complete this task. I will be watching. Do not worry, these are not real humans and only simulated ones, so don’t worry if you mess up. Just try not to in a real situation”.  
Murmurs of ‘Yes, sir!’ From the team.  
Almost instantly the other four moved off in perfect coordination.  
Phobos took flight, flying from high above, while Orchid fluttered between the ruins, poking her beak into every little nook and cranny, while Charon flapped through the shadows after her.  
Hoist was perched on Minos’ back, the ox rutting through the rubble with snuffs and grunts, his horns arching into false sunlight.  
And Hotshot just stood there. Zeus preened himself.  
Clearly they were much better off without Hotshot. They were fine on their own.  
Hotshot rolled his shoulder, signalling Zeus to take flight - but obviously to avoid Phobos, lest the harpy eagle decided to attack the golden eagle.

He shuffled forward slowly, towards the ruins - past where Wedge, Medix and Birdie sat in a neat little row against a crumbling wall, concentrating on their familiars - most likely seeing through their eyes.  
Another thing Hotshot couldn’t do.  
He was going to be useless on this team, with team being the loosest definition possible.  
“Hello?” He called. He still had a task to fail at. Might as well focus on that.  
Something from the corner of his eye moved - under a building whose roof has caved in - the wall crumbled to the earth, and the floor above in wreckage on the floor of the destroyed house. Movement again. “Help!”  
Hotshot’s optics widened. His first chance to fuck up, or perhaps succeed, was laying right in front of him under rubble.  
His optics scanned the side of the house - it appeared to be all well and good…  
He raced towards the rubble and began to rip at it, heaving chunk after piece of broken wood and fractured stone. “I’m here, help is on-”  
A groan and a crack. “HOTSHOT!” Called Hoist in the distance. “THE STRUCTURE’S UNST-”  
With a rumble the whole rest of the house came down, burying Hotshot and the sim-human he was supposed to be rescuing.  
He feared what he would see if he were to open his optics and kick on his chest-lights…  
With another flash, the rubble vanished - as did the smushed sim-human, and the village. He was laying on a cold hard glassy floor, with his four comrades standing over him with disappointment wrought on their faces. However, the aching pain of an entire house collapsing on top of him was still very much real.  
He shifted to his feet, drew in a breath, and burst into tears.

He sprinted to the emergency stairs between the elevators, raced across the foyer, up the stairs, then again up emergency stairs till he reached the third floor. He threw himself into his turret, slammed the door, pressed his back against it and cried.  
He cried and cried until there was a knock at the door - soft and gentle. “Leave,” Hotshot sobbed.  
“Hotshot, it’s just me,” Heatwave muttered.  
Hotshot moved away from the door, and Heatwave pushed it open.  
“It’s okay, Hotshot, you can always try again,” He shuffled closer to his son, closing the door behind him and sitting himself down. “The human wasn’t real”.  
Hotshot shuffled into Heatwave’s arms, who set his son’s head against his chest and sighed. “It’s not that. I screwed up my first day, Wedge is going to make fun of me, and I’m not good enough for this team-”  
Heatwave sighed, leaning back so that he could lift Hotshot’s head from his chest. Heatwave cocked his head and trailed his fingers along Hotshot’s cheek, flicking away stray tears. “It’s okay, Hotshot. It takes time and effort and practice. You’ll get there, and don’t worry about Wedge - he’s going to be dealt with”.  
Hotshot heaved a sigh, and said nothing.

That night, Heatwave was alone with his husband, Chase and Boulder. The Hall was dead silent, the four being flanked to the left by a statue of Herakles to the right and Odysseus to the left, both statues having been pushed out of the way of a massive door that, at first glance, blended in perfectly with the wall.  
“Is the Book in there?” Chase asked softly.  
“Y-yeah, and I don’t dare open the door to check,” Boulder muttered.  
“He should be arriving here tomorrow morning to take the Tome, right?” Blades asked, nudging Heatwave with his elbow. Heatwave smirked.  
“Yeah. Then we can start on, eh, the _next_ _phase_ of our project. The kids can’t know. They’re too young”.  
“But I worry about Medix,” Blades continued, “The super observant one. It won’t be long until he discovers this chamber, and everything we strived for long before the kids were even born. I don’t even know if this is going to work”.  
“It’s going to. It has to,” Heatwave began. “When he comes for the book, we set course to return to the Parthenon in Athens, then we hit the Temple of Ramses to meet with our contact. There’s just a few final things we need to grab, if they’re even still there”.  
“Heatwave, isn’t this a bit too over-prepared? And why the Temple of Ramses, that was moved in the sixties-”  
“Anything can happen, Chase. Trust in me. The Temple being relocated can however pose an issue...”  
Heatwave sighed, and the four set to work on shifting the statues back in front of the small, human-sized door.  
...Everybody has secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Hotshot jumping off of the roof is a reference to the leap of faith from assassin's creed.


End file.
